


How To Groom Your Angel

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Intimacy, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Romantic Friendship, Touching, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The season is turning colder and, unexpectedly, Castiel's wings molt. When Dean and Sam see black wing feathers shed everywhere, Castiel is embarrassed. Dean confronts him about it privately and learns that an angel's wings are an intensely private thing, like seeing a human naked. But Dean is curious. Before either of them understand the implications, Castiel is allowing him to see his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Groom Your Angel

If Dean didn't find a bed soon, he was afraid he would fall asleep at the wheel. He rolled down the window, hoping a blast of cold highway air would wake him up. They had another two hours to go before they hit South Dakota.

Sam's long body spread out in the passenger seat, his head tipped back and his mouth gaping wide. He snored a little even though he denied it every single time. They both knew they were getting a little old for life on the road but the cases still demanded their attention.

And behind him, sitting in the center of the backseat, Castiel's patient blue eyes watched the night scenery pass. Dean watched him momentarily in the rear view mirror but the road required focus. He shifted in his seat, uncertain of whether he was uncomfortable with sleepiness or uncomfortable with how much he wanted Castiel to keep hunting with them. But even the angel seemed tired lately, not that they ever slept.

As Dean drove, he drifted a few times, hoping again that he could make it home. And when something caught his eye, he briefly thought exhaustion made him see things. A quick glance away from the road fell on a small cluster of feathers swirling through the air current passing through the car. Black as ink and elegantly long, some of the feathers dropped to the bench seat between the brothers, while others got sucked out of the window.

"The hell?" Dean said loudly.

Sam's head popped up immediately, groggy yet ready to fight. “Huh? What?”

"Friggin feathers blowing around my car," Dean grumbled. "You leave ritual shit laying around again?"

"We don't have any ritual feathers," Sam replied, mildly offended.

"Did I hit a bird?" Dean stuck his head out of the window, looking for any sign of roadkill on his car.

The gravely sound of Castiel anxiously clearing his throat drew the brothers' attention. Dean glanced in the rear view mirror again and found the angel rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes quickly darting back and forth. Sometimes he looked so distinctly human that it unnerved Dean.

"Cas?" he demanded in a low tone.

"It's, uh, it's me, Dean," he replied.

Hunter eyes narrowed at the road. “You wanna elaborate?”

"I'm molting," he admitted as if it embarrassed him.

"Molting? Isn't that a bird thing?" Sam asked skeptically. He turned sideways in the seat so he could look back at the angel.

"On Earth, angel wings are not unlike bird wings, Sam. I've spent enough time on Earth that my wings are now changing with the seasons. It will be winter soon." As he spoke, his blue eyes turned toward the window again. "I'm getting heavier feathers to insulate me from the cold."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances and neither of them seemed certain of how to speak about such a thing. It clearly made the angel uneasy. Regardless, an intense curiosity took hold in Dean and he did want to know more. Whether he was _allowed_ to know more, of course, he didn't know. He tried not to stare, to keep his eyes on the road, but feathers dropping off wings he couldn't see left him fascinated, curious, and fighting the urge to ask a thousand questions.

"So… You're shedding feathers?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward.

"How come we can see them?" Sam asked more directly.

Inside, Dean cringed. Usually Sam was the sensitive one reminding Dean not to make people uncomfortable, but his curiosity seemed to override his sense of decorum.

Castiel's elbow rested on the door and he stuck his hand under his chin. Again, he seemed tired. “Once the feather is separated from my grace, it's just a feather. Nothing more. If you can see ravens, you can see my molted feathers.”

"So you're like a raven then," jabbered Sam curiously as he plucked a discarded feather from the seat and examined it.

"Yes, Sam. In a manner of speaking."

"Sammy, shut it," hissed Dean discreetly from the corner of his mouth.

The three of them passed the remainder of the drive in silence made even more awkward by occasional feathers floating through the Impala. Dean tried to ignore them for Castiel's sake, and yet, he wondered why the angel didn't just Houdini his way out of there if it embarrassed him so much. His stomach twisted. Maybe he did want to stay.

In an effort to make him feel more welcome, Dean cleared out of room for him at Bobby's that night, next door to the room that he used. Bobby was gone on a case of his own and let the boys hole up there while they rested. Castiel quietly thanked him for the room, perhaps a little entertained by the novelty of it.

And when Dean finally dropped into his own bed, he expected to sleep immediately. Instead, he laid awake contemplating the mystery of wings he'd never seen and never really considered in the past. Out of sight, out of mind, he concluded. Whole parts of Castiel's body remained concealed from him, never discussed, yet thrust into the forefront of his mind with a handful of newly molted feathers. He wondered if Sam made the angel feel bad with those incessant questions.

Sighing, Dean realized he wasn't going to sleep until he made certain that Castiel wasn't offended. He heaved himself out of bed and put his t-shirt on again.

A short distance down the hall, he found Castiel sitting cross-legged on his bed, lights blazing, and a large book of religious art spread before him. Shed feathers scattered on the floor, the bed, and the trenchcoat flung out behind him. It resembled black flurries of snow just beginning to stick to the ground and Dean hesitated to walk on them. It felt like walking on Castiel.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel, engrossed in the book. "Bobby has an impressive collection."

"Yeah, he does," Dean replied. "So, um... you okay, Cas?"

"I'm rarely not okay. Why?" He finally looked up from the book.

"Well, Sammy kinda got a little curious, I guess, and you seemed uncomfortable about it."

Castiel observed Dean with imperceptible emotions, though Dean reminded himself that he never really felt anything. "Was I uncomfortable, Dean, or were you?" he asked pointedly.

That stopped him in his tracks and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I... uh... I dunno." He swept away a few feathers from the bed and sat down beside the molting angel. "It's weird. I never really thought about you having wings before and now I can't think about anything else. It's not really my business, I guess." He fell on his back, though his feet remained planted on the floor.

"It's too distracting for the human mind to see our wings, so we hide them. It's been that way since the birth of Christ."

"Oh, yeah, right," Dean replied. An odd pang of disappointment stabbed him as he realized that meant... "So, I can't ever see then," he said before he could stop himself.

"You... want to see my wings?" The question seemed to baffle him.

He couldn't exactly deny it after he blurted it like that, so he shrugged and nodded. "Sure."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I'm curious." Burning, intensely curious, but he didn't say so.

For the first time, Castiel seemed truly speechless. Not his usual controlled silence but an exposed sense of not having a response, as if he never expected Dean to want that kind of thing. And yet, Dean didn't expect it either. He didn't see what the big deal about it was anyway, but he obviously hit some unknown nerve in the angel. That took talent, he guessed, because he didn't think Castiel had any nerves to hit.

"Dean..." he began, stopped, and started again. "Dean, it's the same as me asking to see you in the nude. Wings are private to an angel." Did his cheeks flush?

"Whatever. You can see me naked." What the fuck was he saying? Dean sat up suddenly.

"You're being sinful." As Castiel left the bed, a clump of feathers appeared where he had been sitting. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes downcast to the floor, and ambled around the room to avoid it.

That wasn't right, Dean decided. "What's sinful about a body? Hell, you're the one always waxing poetic about God's most beautiful creations. It's just a body. It's just wings."

Castiel scoffed, or he started to laugh, but stopped himself. Dean couldn't quite gauge the sound he made. He knew, however, that a light flush filled his face and he turned to the side in an attempt to avoid looking at Dean. The curious need to check out what he couldn't see every day didn't strike Dean as particularly scandalous or intimate, but Castiel certainly reacted as if he whipped out a magnifying glass to have a look at his crotch or something.

"You really are an angel," Dean mumbled. "Only God could make people  _and_ angels feel like shit for curiosity about each other."

"Don't be blasphemous," cautioned Castiel, though his tone suggested habit rather than meaning it.

If he wasn't going to let him have a look, then maybe he'd satisfy the curiosity with a few questions. Dean let his demeanor soften, hoping to put Castiel more at ease. "Does it, you know, does it hurt to ... to molt?"

"No," replied the angel. "It itches. I scratch and more feathers fall out."

"Sounds like a sunburn," Dean commented.

"In a way. Humans itch and shed dead skin. It's a bit like that, except I'm not burned at all. I just have winter feathers and summer feathers." Finally, he stopped pacing and sat beside Dean again. "Your curiosity isn't offensive. I know you're not aware of how private my wings are to me. Some angels, like Gabriel, are known to let his be seen as a means to impress and seduce, but I've never allowed anyone to see mine."

Dean scowled and then his brow lifted. "Does it work for him?"

"He's fathered three nephilim," replied Castiel matter-of-factly.

"Oh..."

"Yes."

"This is kinda like the virgin thing for you, huh?" Dean guessed.

"I shouldn't have told you that."

"You didn't. I dragged it out of you." And he liked keeping his secrets.

A deep sigh engulfed Castiel as he stood up again. He technically didn't need to breathe, which meant his sigh came from stress. Hands rubbed his coat as if wiping away nervous sweat but Dean didn't ever remember seeing him sweat before either.

"Are you certain you want to see?" he asked, pacing again.

"Not if it's gonna make you have a panic attack," Dean retorted.

Castiel spun, facing him, and he squinted. "I don't panic."

"You look a little freaked out to me," he pointed out carefully.

Mild irritation tensed the angel's expression. "Do you want to do this or not, Dean?"

"Do  _you_ want to do this - whatever we're doing?"

If one of them didn't grow a pair and make a decision, they were going to go around and around like that all night. Dean stood but Castiel pushed him down again, which momentarily spurned his anger until he realized the angel decided to go ahead with it. He watched Castiel peel off his trenchcoat and suit jacket as he paced a slow, wide circle around the room to fight off his anxiety, it seemed. It was clearly a bigger deal than Dean ever thought. Nobody else had ever seen his wings. He sat respectfully still - as respectfully as someone like Dean could be. But when Castiel tugged off his tie and white button-down shirt, Dean froze.

"What are you doing?" he asked in rushed words, looking away.

"The less encumbrances, the clearer you'll see what you mean to see. It isn't easy removing the block from your human mind." Castiel faced Dean, stripped from the waist up, and leaned forward as if looking straight through the soul. His voice lowered, saying, "Close your eyes."

With some reluctance, Dean obeyed, feeling entirely too vulnerable without being able to see everything around him. He felt fingertips on his forehead the way Castiel used to do when he healed him. But it wasn't just a tap and boom, healed. Or boom, wings. Fingertips drew an invisible symbol on Dean's forehead and a light tingling sensation penetrated his skin. The tingling deepened as if drilling through his skull, allowing Castiel access to his brain. Just as Dean decided to protest, he felt the air move in front of him as Castiel righted his posture.

"Just, uh, just remember I'm molting," said the angel self-consciously.

"Okay," Dean replied. "Can I open my eyes now?"

The air moved again. Castiel stepped back. "Yes, Dean."

The hunter opened his eyes, not expecting his vision to be that blurry, like just waking up from eye surgery. A tall, flesh-colored blob stood a few feet back with an enormous black shadow hulking behind it. Dean blinked, squinted, and rubbed his eyes.

Slowly, Dean's vision sharpened and Castiel materialized clearly before him, though the angel couldn't make eye contact. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. The outline of wings stretching high over his head to the floor came into view. It resembled a mirage behind him and for a time, Dean couldn't get his brain to connect the wings to the angel. Blackness filled in from the outline toward his body, details of ruffled feathers sharpening as well.

"Did it work?" asked Castiel. Hesitantly, he fidgeted on his feet.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled quietly, afraid to break the spell.

He cautiously lifted from the bed and approached the angel. The wings solidified the more Dean talked himself into accepting their reality and he walked a wide perimeter around Castiel, who never could meet his eyes. Dean knew he felt appraised like merchandise. He didn't mean to stare, of course, but as he approached, it appeared that his wings weren't merely that of a raven but covered in light too. Faint light, much like the blackest of black shining and reflecting fragments of every other color. He suspected the wings would have looked even more impressive if there weren't patches of thinning, molted feathers that lost their luster as soon as they hit the floor.

Dean reached out but retracted his hand just as quick, thinking it might have been one of those look but don't touch situations. Blue eyes flickered toward him shyly. He gave a subtle nod.

"Go ahead," he said quietly.

Dean craned his head around and forced eye contact. "You sure?"

"Yes, Dean." His shoulders rolled and his wings spread behind him.

The sudden animation in his wings took Dean aback. He hesitated but accused himself of being an idiot. Of course Castiel's wings moved easily as if part of his body. They  _were_ part of his body. And he understood the privilege of being allowed to witness something other people were never allowed to see.

Close behind the angel, close enough to feel his body heat, Dean trailed his fingertips down one of the wings with the grain of his feathers. Liquid and silk all at once, he couldn't nail down a specific sensation to identify because they were every sensation. He wasn't like a raven at all. He was special. One of a kind. Even though Dean caught him in a molting season, and perhaps he didn't look as impressive as he wanted, he  _was_ impressive. And when Dean touched the other wing, Castiel's profile turned his way and he leaned into the touch. Neither of them spoke. It wasn't necessary. The experience spoke more than words ever could.

"How long will I see this?" Dean asked eventually, his tone quiet.

Castiel turned back to him. "Until I replace the block in your brain."

"Just me?"

"Do you prefer it to be just you?" It sounded like a loaded question.

"Yeah." It sounded like a loaded answer.

"As you wish, Dean," he agreed with a nod.

"But don't tell anyone," Dean added as an afterthought.

A smile lifted the corner's of Castiel's mouth. "Who would I tell?"

"I know but--"

"--Just us," the angel reiterated, looking back at his eyes again.

Dean's smile shifted to something lopsided and a bit bashful. "Yeah."

"One more thing." Before Dean could question it, Castiel hugged him abruptly and completely. Arms tightened first and then the weight of muscular black feathered wings looped around both of them. He squeezed Dean in that double-hug as if it had been something he thought about before but never tried.

"What's this about?" asked Dean, hugging him back.

Castiel shrugged and more feathers floated to the floor. "Curiosity."

That night, Dean stole a feather off the floor when Castiel wasn't looking, and he took it back to his room after saying good night. He dug through his bag until he found his old, beat up copy of  _Slaughterhouse-Five_. Somewhere in the middle of the book, he pressed the feather between the pages. Nobody would find it until long after he died, he guessed, but it wasn't for anyone else to know about anyway. He kept it for himself, to remember that he once counted that amazing creature as one of his loved ones.


End file.
